


The ring is round & hath no end so is my love for thy

by Gwerfel



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:26:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22115599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwerfel/pseuds/Gwerfel
Summary: As the crew prepare to leave the ships, Billy wonders whose initials Hickey has carved on his trunk.Short fic for the Terror Bingo prompt 'EC'.
Relationships: William Gibson/Cornelius Hickey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	The ring is round & hath no end so is my love for thy

Who can it be? There is no man on  _ Terror _ with those initials, he’s quite sure. It must be Hickey that carved them, it is his trunk, it is the place he slings his hammock each night. But what can it mean?

Billy traces the letters with the tip of his finger very lightly, as if touching the scab on a still tender wound. 

If not a name, perhaps a saying; a private code. Billy is familiar with such affectionate inscriptions, he’s seen them in tattoos, or engraved on cheap plate rings. " _ Continew Faythfull" "Be true in Harte".  _ Billy has been neither true nor faithful, and perhaps this is his punishment - not knowing. 

He straightens up, his back creaking like the bow of the ship. The knuckles of his spine scrape at his skin, they feel like they will wear through, his entire body will need darning (oh, don't).

So what could it mean? He thinks about it as he works, as he packs away silver and carries empty boxes and watches his meals grows smaller and smaller. He gets thinner, he moves his ring to the next finger in case it slips off.

E.C.

_ Ever Constant _ ,  _ Eternally Cherished _ ,  _ Enduring Care _ . They don’t sound right, and they don’t sound like Cornelius. 

_ Cornelius _ . Perhaps two initials combined? There are three Edwards on Terror - Lieutenant Little - which is preposterous - Helpman, the clerk in charge, who is on  _ Erebus _ now, and Genge. Surely not him, Billy thinks, feeling his neck flush red. 

He stops speaking to Genge. 

He feels strange, these past weeks. His thoughts are not always his own, his dreams cling to him long after he wakes, gasping and frightened in his lonely berth.  _ Terror _ is too quiet, the empty decks too vast. Sometimes he thinks he can smell blood.

Still, whenever he passes the trunk on the forecastle he touches those letters and feels a spark of something hot and bitter, a searing wire between his ribs. E.C.

This private mystery is all he allows space for in his mind, it fills the silent hours between watches and duties which might otherwise be given over to dread, or even despair (oh please, not slowly, not like this). So in his own way, Cornelius is keeping him sharp. 

He is back in Hickey's good graces, and for that he ought to be glad. Life - or living - ought to be easier. 

"Are you afraid?" He asks him, as they sit staring at empty plates, "we are so many, it's so far to go."

"The rules will be different, once we're out there." Cornelius smiles, "We may berth together, I'll look out for you."

"Will you?"

"I couldn't be without you, Billy." Below the mess table he slides his fingers between Gibson's and squeezes. Billy clings to him.

There is no passion, he lacks the vitality for it now, but the thought of another warm body close after years of sleeping apart from the others will be a comfort. (If the end is here, I could meet it in your arms).

Billy wears the ring always, underneath his gloves. There is no foolish declaration writ upon it, but he knows what it means. He thinks he knows, he thinks and he thinks. He wonders.

E.C.

Perhaps an old lover. A message for England, should the ships be found before they are (how much more will it hurt, before then?) - but that doesn't sound like Cornelius either. They are in each other's company often, and he speaks only of what lies ahead, never of home. He is not nostalgic or melancholy, he is filled with purpose. Billy listens and burns with hatred for those two unfathomable initials. 

_ Are you mine _ ? Billy wonders.  _ Are you mine, as I am yours? _

“What does EC mean?” he asks, finally, on the night before they must walk. 

Cornelius doesn’t rage at him, or turn sly. He smiles, “why are you asking, Billy?”

“To know the answer.”

“Would it do you any good, do you think?”

“Who is he?”

Cornelius laughs and plants a hand on his knee, patting it kindly. “Billy, dear heart. Get some rest.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
